Earthly Marble
It was nearly over. Her legs were carrying her faster to that place than she had ever run before. It wasn't her thoughts that were uring her on - it was pure anticipation of her destination. The high door was in front of her already, behind it her biggest and most profound wish was waiting for her. A warm feeling of expectation and anticipation embraced her, ever tighter, nearly taking her breath away. Now, having left all difficulties of the long journey behind her, having defied all dangers that laid in wait for her and having warded off every sinful temptation, her awestruck footsteps on the steps of the temple were for her an unprecedented onwards propulsion into the sweet realms of her beliefs whose safetly she had irreversibly dedicated herself to. The temple was the center of these realms; a place where the worldly and spiritual influences of being flowed together to one point and merged with one another: For within it, standing upright and proud but at the same time looking down lovingly and trustworthingly upon the pilgrims, was His statue - the image of the Creator, the Deity himself. This marble, glorious image was the reason why she, now having nearly reached the end of the steps, had taken on the long journey from home. She was young, but her belief was her greatest possession. Seeing His visage made her want to be soaked with the warmth, love and sinlessness of His perfect dignity and purify her head and all unclean thoughts within it in order to come closer to her purpose: to open fully to her belief, to delve deep into it and to feel it in every breath, in every cell of her body. The gate opened slowly and gracefully and she walked in, at first not daring to even breathe. Her eyes widened, the grand mosaic floor beneath her feet seemed to turn to air and she staggered. His statue rose up before her. Heat climbed up within her. Kneeling down, she looked up at the shining white monument and expected Him to come down to her at any minute, to touch her with his warmth, to take away her sins, to show her the gloryol His existence and the justness of his faith. But instead, she faltered. As much as she tried, as she now knelt before Him, she could not find this love, security and sinlessness she had been so sure she would find. No, instead she was looking at hidden hatred, advancing strangeness and a frightening sinful image of the Creator. She couldn't explain what was happening. The once friendly, awe-inspiring facial features of His statue suddenly appeared to her as a distorted grimace of a brutality worthy of abomination; also the finely carved fingers turned into roughly chiselled claws, the upright back into a crooked hunch and the gold peace insignia worn by the image of the Creator into rusty weapons of murder. She got up promptly, still not believing her eyes. She had gone into great effort to finally come to this place, yet what she saw now was the terrible opposite of the portrayal of what the beleifs of a pilgrim like her should have provided. That the Creator should have bestowed upon her. Her legs carried her faster away from that place than she had ever run before. It wasn't her thoughts that urged her on, nor anger, disappointment, madness, disbelief or desperation - it was shame. It was not important why the Creator refuse her his glory. He did so, and she was not worhty of Him.. And never had been, she realized now. The Creator had shown her her own unworthiness. There was no longer any purification, she would never be able to dedicate herself to her beliefs again. She ran to the bridge over the rushing river. Not a sound was to be heard from her throat as she fell. She was a disgrace and the lovely world did not deserve to have such a dirty mark brought to its attention. The water felt as cold as her feelings towards the Creator as it drenched her clothes and pulled her into its inescapable grapse. The disgrace.. the unworthiness. The Creator's statue stood as proud and as white as ever in the temple, an object of unconditional worship which the realm of belief alone claimed to rule, thereby forgetting to teach its believers that it was only made of earthly marble. Category:Nehrim: At Fate's Edge Category:Books Category:Good Reads